Rejected By My Mate; Claimed By Lycan Quadruplets Chapter 38

Bryan’s POV

I ignored him this time, mounting again with a wince. Pain pulsed down my thigh, but I refused to quit. The field was scattered with training markers—cones, low fences, and obstacle poles—and Knox led us through them like it was a game he knew he’d already won.

He cleared every jump flawlessly. His horse responded like a dance partner. Mine stumbled through like it was drunk.

At one point, Knox stopped in front of me, tipping his head dramatically. “Want a snack? A pillow? I feel like this is turning into a full-day show. I might as well get popcorn.”

“You’re not even trying to teach,” I snapped. “You’re just enjoying yourself.”

He didn’t deny it. “Well, yeah. Watching you try to stay on that horse is the most fun I’ve had in weeks.”

By the time we reached the final lap, my body was shaking with fatigue. My palms burned. My ribs throbbed. But I stayed on. Every time I fell, I got back up. Every mocking laugh fueled me a little more.

Knox wasn’t even giving instructions anymore. He was just showboating—riding past me backward, standing on the saddle, and making his horse rear dramatically like we were in some kind of circus.

“Don’t worry, Bryan,” he said, riding past me yet again. “Maybe next year they’ll have a tournament for slow learners. You’d dominate.”

I almost lost it. “You do realize you’re not helping, right?”

“I am helping. I’m helping you build character. Humility. Lowered expectations.”

I wanted to lunge at him. Drag him off that horse and beat him with my saddle. But I didn’t. I gritted my teeth and kept riding.

Finally, when I was sure my legs were about to give out, he pulled up next to me and said, “Alright, enough fun for today. Wouldn’t want you breaking anything vital. Your dignity’s already shattered.”

I dismounted stiffly, stumbling slightly as my foot hit the ground. He watched with a smug grin, tossing his reins to one of the stable hands who had arrived.

“You’ll thank me later,” he said, clapping me on the shoulder.

“Unlikely.”

“Let’s do this again tomorrow,” he said cheerfully. “Maybe by the end of the week, you’ll manage a full lap without tasting dirt.”

He turned and walked off, laughing to himself. I stood there, fists clenched, rage bubbling just under my skin. I could still feel his laughter echoing in my ears, like a goddamn war drum reminding me that no matter what I did, I was always a joke to someone.

Especially to my father.

I couldn’t feel my legs.

Every muscle in my body screamed like I had just returned from a battlefield. I dragged myself through the corridor, limping, each step sending shockwaves through my bruised thighs. My back ached. My arms felt like noodles. And my ego? Still bleeding.

By the time I reached the double doors of my room, I was already cursing the entire bloodline of every horse on the planet. I pushed the door open with a grunt and practically stumbled in, catching the wall like it owed me support.

“Maids!” I barked, loud enough to be heard across the damn hallway.

Two of them showed up almost immediately. I didn’t recognize their names, but I remembered one had a nervous smile and the other had the kind of eyes that stayed glued to the floor.

The nervous one stepped forward, bowing slightly. “You called, Alpha Bryan?”

“Obviously.” I winced as I peeled off my coat. “I’m sore. I want a hot bath drawn. Now. And get something for my muscles—oils, herbs, whatever. I feel like I was dragged behind a moving carriage.”

“Yes, Alpha,” the quiet one said, already turning toward the bath chamber.

I limped toward the bed and sat on the edge with a hiss. My knees cracked. My back cracked. I was pretty sure even my pride cracked again for good measure.

Stupid Knox. I was going to shave his horse bald the next time I saw him.

The maids moved swiftly. Steam began to rise from the bath in no time. The scent of lavender and eucalyptus filled the room, and one of them placed a soft towel on the side table. They really were good at this. Efficient. Silent.

“You,” I said, pointing to the girl who had spoken less. “Help me get out of this shirt. My shoulders are done for.”

She hesitated only a second before stepping forward. Her fingers were light but precise, peeling the fabric away from my arms slowly. Every tug made me hiss through clenched teeth, but I didn’t protest. I wasn’t proud enough to pretend I could move freely right now.

“Massage oil,” I muttered. “And be gentle. I swear if I feel more pain, I’m going to scream.”

The other maid returned with a small tray—various oils, a cloth, and what looked like pain relief herbs crushed in a bowl. She knelt beside the chair I had shifted to and started with the oil on my shoulders. Her fingers were firmer, kneading with experience. I groaned. Not in pain. Not exactly in pleasure either. Somewhere in between.

“At least someone in this house knows how to treat an heir,” I muttered.

“Would you like tea, Alpha?” the quieter maid asked from across the room.

I cracked one eye open. “Only if it makes me forget this entire day.”

She gave a soft nod and disappeared out the door. I leaned back in the chair, closing my eyes as the pressure from the maid’s hands worked into my spine. My head swam with memories of Knox laughing, falling off the horse, and my father’s disappointed stare. It all kept playing in loops, like a broken record.

“You’re too stiff,” the maid murmured carefully.

“You would be too if you spent your morning eating mud and insults,” I muttered back.

She didn’t reply. Just kept massaging. At least she knew when not to speak.

After a few more agonizing minutes, the bath was finally ready. The steam clouded the edges of the marble tub, and the water glistened like heaven itself. I peeled off the rest of my clothes, waving off help for that part, and sank into the heat like a man reborn.

“Oh God,” I breathed, arms resting on the sides, eyes closed. “This is it. This is where I die. Tell my father I regret nothing.”

The maids giggled softly behind me. I didn’t care.

I soaked until my fingers pruned and my joints sighed with relief. When I finally climbed out, I let them wrap me in a warm towel before I shuffled back to my room. The bed was already made. Lights dimmed. Robe waiting.

As I slipped it on, someone knocked at the door.

“Come in.”

The door opened, and a different maid stepped inside—older, calmer—holding a tray with a plate of rice, spicy goat meat, some steamed vegetables, and a covered bowl. The aroma made my stomach protest instantly.

“Alpha,” she greeted. “I brought food and your hangover soup.”

“My savior,” I said, pointing to the table. “There. Set it down.”

She obeyed, arranging everything neatly before turning to go.

“Wait,” I called. “What’s in the bowl?”

“Herbal soup. For the hangover.”

“And the pain?”

“There’s a tonic mixed into the soup to relax your nerves.”

I nodded in approval. “Good. You’re dismissed.”

As soon as she left, I sat and devoured the food like I hadn’t eaten in a week. I didn’t realize how starved I was until I tasted that spicy meat. It felt like heaven wrapped in pepper.

Once the plate was empty and the soup gone, I let the comfort of my room settle around me. The fire crackled softly in the corner. My body was exhausted, finally at ease. I climbed into bed and pulled the covers over me.

Lying there in the silence, I felt the ache in my muscles slowly dull. My eyelids got heavier. My mind wandered for a moment—to the tournament, to my father’s glares, to the embarrassment that refused to stop biting.

But soon enough, sleep took me.

And for once, I didn’t fight it.